


Fleeting details

by idontshipiyatch



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Love Confessions, Non-Explicit Sex, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24708352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idontshipiyatch/pseuds/idontshipiyatch
Summary: The sounds of the ocean occupy the evening. One breath. The worn wood of the bench you’re sitting on waits with you. Two breaths. “I love you too.”
Relationships: Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Fleeting details

“Wakatoshi.”

Olive eyes drift from the waves to look at you but you keep yours on the lazy tide as you rest your head on his shoulder.

“I love you.”

The sounds of the ocean occupy the evening. One breath. The worn wood of the bench you’re sitting on waits with you. Two breaths. “I love you too.”

A slight press on your clasped hands, and you both go back to comfortable quiet.

Nothing changes, but a little bit still does. He stares at you with composed curiosity throughout the evening, meeting your fond smiles with the usual speck of warmth hiding behind the intimidating irises, but you can tell your words have stirred something else awake.

It doesn’t show, but it's felt in fleeting details.

His fingers around yours hold on slightly tighter. His eyes begin to linger when you order your food and by the time you leave the restaurant, you know your body has been mapped with the same acute attention he uses when he plays.

His voice, you hear it more, not by much, but you know him well enough to notice. His lips brush against your forehead when you reach home, but they trail down to the tip of your nose and stop at your mouth with a hint of hesitancy that shifts into reluctance to part.

So you lean back first and, hands on his shoulders, you ask him if he wants to stay the night.

He follows you inside, and the spot under the bench reserved for his shoes makes him frown for a second.

Hanging his jacket next to yours is familiar, and the gaze grazing your back as you step into the living room forms a question neither of you are very sure of the answer.

But as he observes you browsing your screen for something to watch, he decides that it doesn’t really matter, because other things attract his attention.

Your studio is modest, but the path he walks is a lane higher than yours. When he looks, he sees small and the back of his mind squirms with thoughts he’d glanced at before but never acknowledged.

He could give you bigger, better. He knew that already. But three words softly hummed along a gentle evening breeze have clasped pieces together, the final stone on a bridge he’d been waiting to cross.

Caught up in the episode you put on, you don’t speak and he welcomes it as a distraction to sort the sudden needs blooming between his ribs.

He does intently, as he does everything, and the concentration curving his features amuses you, but you don’t point it out and simply give him time.

Head on his lap, you feel his hand slip under your shirt halfway through the second episode.

It doesn’t go further than your hips, but the touch murmurs promises that mingle with your heartbeat when his fingertips lightly waltz against above the hem of your pants.

Still, he doesn’t rush, he rarely does and even the odd daze set on his mind fails to agitate him.

But when you meet his eyes after turning off your screen, you recognize the gleam of impending ripples in the calming strength at his core.

Shuffling in your drawer for clothes, you pick yours and his without sensing his approach.

Taking the items from your grasp, he places them on the furniture and nudges it shut before curling a hand around your waist to make you turn around.

The grip tilting your head up is gentle, and his lips mirror the delicacy of the touch when they find yours.

He kisses you, unhurried but focused, and you taste on his tongue the aftermath of a confession now forever colored marine. It seeps into you too now, as you make your way to the bed, still connected by languid lips, unwilling to separate.

You wonder if he saw things in you the way you did with him, if changes you didn’t notice were what he searched for when he looked at you.

Did your lips curve higher? Were your looks less skilled at taming the flame flaring up every time you’re with him?

You don’t know what he found, but the way he keeps you close tells you he liked what he saw. And as you shed your clothes, the remains of uncertainty yield, leaving you both bare with more than your bodies.

It’s a kind of vulnerability you’ve felt before, brief brush under your fingertips after you got together, but when it slithers within your grasp now, its texture has changed.

His lips, his hands, his eyes, they know your curves the same way yours know his. But as he rocks into you, the thrusts move to seal an unspoken vow.

Your fingers tangle in his hair and the moans slipping through your joined lips echo in your bedroom with the warning of change.

And you know he feels it too because the bruising fervor usually laying dormant unless he’s on the court dribbles into his touch.

It doesn’t hurt, but he’s less wary of his strength and you, for all the times you’ve witnessed the damage it can deliver, know the extent of the power stretched under the toned muscles.

Yet you meet his movements with equal longing to feel him against you.

Words aren’t necessary as your fingers dig into his back because when he mouths at your skin, you sense it.

The promise hiding behind three little words rising with the shadow of familiarity in its trail.

Neither of you speak, but the way you hold each other says it again, louder with every touch.

I love you.

**Author's Note:**

> 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔩  
>   
> 📍 [where to find me](https://mooniv.carrd.co/)  
>   
> D.


End file.
